Avow
by flowerpicture
Summary: Stendan mush.


**AN: Everyone's been posting Dublin music today and I was looking at Dublin pics and my Stendan feels are getting to me today so… And then I realised I've never written a Dublin fic. Once again this was written in 30 minutes so please ignore any mistakes.**

::: :::

It's a dream. It's someone lifting the shutters from your eyes and heart and letting in the light. It's Steven on the bed, naked and waiting, soft smile on his face just for you—and you don't pounce on him and ravish him and tear pleasure from his body, because you don't need to yet. There's no rush now. You've got him, finally, yours to keep. Your chest swells with it, emotion running deep.

"You cold?" you ask him from your place at the foot of the bed, removing your own clothing as Steven watches you. You ask him if he's cold because it's December, and this is Dublin, and he's naked—and a moment ago you saw him shiver and he does it again, now, as you push down your jeans.

"No," he whispers, and he's not cold, you know that—he's reacting to the sight of you, to everything that's happened today, to everything you can have now, beginning here, in this hotel room, together.

You swallow and you smile and you have no inclination to hide your smiles now because Steven deserves them, deserves to see how he washes away everything bleak and dark about you and leaves only this, this steady rise of happiness and disbelief because Steven came. He married a man and he left him at an airport to come here to you, gave up his chance of a contented life to take a gamble on you when you told him, repeatedly, that you can never give him what he needs. Steven's tenacious, and he gave it one last shot when he had everything to lose, and you can't even begin to explain how deep the gratitude runs in your blood, how it makes you feel as if your whole world's within reach now, your whole world lying here on this bed, a man with your heart sitting warm and protected in the palm of his hand.

You're as naked as Steven now and you climb onto the bed, on your hands and knees, crawl up until you're lying beside him balanced up on one elbow and you look down into his face, his beautiful face, his eyes shining for you.

You're about to put your hand on his naked skin for the first time in _so long_, just on his chest, a simple touch, but you freeze with your hand hovering because once you touch him he has you forever and there's a chance, always a chance, he will destroy you. He has the power now, more than ever, to break you. You've never felt so vulnerable; being so hopelessly in love gives you a sense of strength but it's strength you've borrowed from Steven because he's the strong one, he's the one who didn't give up on you. He's the one who fought to bring you together when you fought so hard to keep you apart and he won, because you're weak, and your need and love for this boy overpowers everything.

He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth and he places a kiss on each of your fingertips, looking up at you with reassurance in his eyes because this is okay, he's not going anywhere, he fought so hard because he _wants this_ more than his marriage and his happy little life, more than the power of your promise to God.

When he's finished kissing your fingers you trail them across his face, over his cheekbone and his brow and down the edge of his face to his jaw, soft skin and day-old stubble against your roughened fingers and his lashes flutter, lips curving into a smile at your touch, and you've barely even looked down at his body yet because you can only handle one perfection at a time.

You dip down and kiss him, a soft cling of lips, brush your tongue against his as he parts his lips and sighs into your mouth and you close over his bottom lip and linger for a moment, the taste of him making your hand shake against his cheek. When you lift up he's smiling again and it's as though he can't contain it, his joy, makes you want to breathe out a laugh as emotion pushes at your ribs.

"You look happy," he says to you, low and secretive, and his eyes are searching your whole face, tracking every part of you that's brightened since your time with him on the bridge, putting this together, this future for you both.

You murmur, "I am," because you see no reason to hide and his smile widens so you kiss it, and you lick into his mouth, and this is the kiss that will move things along and you're glad for it, because you might have all the time in the world now to re-learn this boy and his body and his pleasure, but you've waited too long to be here again and your patience, now that he's opening wide and letting you in, is thin.

He whispers a moan into your mouth as you plunder him deep and he pulls on you, tugging on your arm and your hip, getting you up onto him and you settle between his legs, his knees bending and rising to press his thighs against your waist, the hardness of his dick resting snug beside your own in the valley of his groin and you break the kiss, press your foreheads together, because you need a moment.

It's all too much, and you love him too much, and you want this to be slow and perfect and everything making love to him should be after such a long wait but your body's aching for him, can already feel your control weakening, and it's as if he reads you mind because he puts a hand on your cheek to make you look him in the eye. "We can do it properly next time," he says softly, and the knowledge that there will be a _next time_, and a time after that, and a hundred more before you'll start losing count—it serves to make your heartbeat stutter and your dick throb and you roll your hips against him, your dick sliding along his own, making him suck in a breath. "I just need you inside me now," he says, eyes darkening. "Everything else can wait."

You roll your hips against him again and you kiss him, swallow his gasp, and he pulls from the kiss and breathes, "Brendan, please," and you can't refuse him, not now.

You reach over to the bedside table with a shaking hand and retrieve a condom and lube and you're hoping it doesn't remind him of how he first found you here, why you have supplies ready to use, because you don't want that memory in his head, in either of you, wish you could erase it from you both. But if he's thinking of it he doesn't show it and when you pop open the lube he shakes his head and puts his hand on top of yours. "Don't," he says and you stop to look at him, search his eyes. "I don't need it."

You swallow and your dick throbs and all you can think now is how tight it's going to be, how it's going to milk pleasure from you in the most agonisingly exquisite way. But your pleasure isn't what matters here and you smooth a hand down his thigh, whisper, "It'll hurt," and he shakes his head again and his eyes hold a glint of plea and need and he says, "It won't." There's such trust in his voice that it leaves you breathless.

You can't deny him, not if this is what he wants, and you can't deny yourself—you lift up enough to roll on the condom and slick lube on to your dick and if he doesn't want stretching then that's fine, but you rub lube onto his hole anyway, just briefly, enough to make you grit your teeth with the intimacy of it, the intimacy you've missed and craved for longer than you can believe. He hitches his breath at the feel of it but there's a warning in his eyes telling you not to push in with a finger so you don't, and you drop the lube to the side, and you settle back down between his thighs and curve your arms under him, curling your hands over his shoulders from the back to hold him close.

He manages to wedge a hand between you to take hold of your dick and you hold your breath with it, the feel of his hand on you, shift your hips obligingly as he guides you to his hole. Then he releases you and wraps both arms and legs around you and you look into his eyes, his warm, lust-blown eyes full of emotion, and you push into his body.

There's resistance, but not as much as you expected, and you kiss him through it, pressing in inch by inch, taking it slow and distracting yourself with this kiss more than him because it feels incredible, tight and intense and so hot it scalds you. Once you're seated fully inside him you stop and you kiss him now, nothing more, kiss him deep and thorough as you feel him relaxing around you, adjusting to the size and pressure. Then the stretched rim of his hole twitches and clenches around the base of your dick as if trying to suck you in further and you groan soft and heavy into his mouth, give him what he wants when his hands trail down to grip your arse and push, making you move.

The first handful of thrusts are long and slow and you're still kissing him, languid with it, until he starts rolling his hips up to meet you and he's increasing the pace whether you want it or not but you do, desperate for it, and your lips fall slack together, breathing into each other's mouths as you start pulling down on his shoulders for leverage and thrusting in deep and quick. It's a relentless rhythm now and the bed's jolting with each thrust and neither of you are saying anything but there's a moan knocking out of Steven each time you hit him deep, and you arch your back and curl your body over so you can press your lips to his sweat-damp collarbone, smother your groans against his skin. He drags his hands from your arse to the middle of your back and he digs his nails in, the sharp pleasure-pain making you choke out a moan and you lift up suddenly, get your knees under you and sit up, pulling him with you so he's straddling your thighs, his arms locked around your neck, bouncing up and down on your dick without pause as he pants and groans and you tongue into his mouth, lips slack and parted wide as you use your hold on his hips to shove him down hard on your cock, push up deep into his body.

You don't come together but it's close. He's bouncing up and down as if he's going out of his mind with it and you're rocking up, meeting his every thrust, eating at his mouth and yanking him down onto your dick and then you squeeze a hand between you, get his dick in your grip and stroke once, twice, and he's gone—back arching and keening in his throat and shuddering all around you, his spunk hitting the skin of you both, slick and warm, his hole clenching harshly around your dick and his rhythm stuttering with his orgasm and it's your undoing. You come deep inside him, pulling him down desperately so you're buried as far in as you can go as you fall apart, grunting and groaning and you don't care about the sounds you make and neither does Steven, tightening his arms around you to pull your face into his neck and you're both dripping sweat, both shaking, and nothing in the entire world exists but this, this pure rapture and oblivion of perfect, overwhelming pleasure and love.

You lower him back onto the bed and you're still shaking, and he's still trembling all around you, and you don't want to leave his body yet so you don't. You stay there, and you kiss him, and you can't believe you're here in this moment with him. That he's found you and he's claimed you and he's not given up, and you thank him with your lips and your tongue and your hands caressing his body, easing him back, soothing the tremors from his muscle and bone until he relaxes and holds you close and breathes "_Love you_," against your lips.

If this is a dream then you don't want to wake up and you settle down further onto his body and link your fingers with his and you kiss him, and you feel his skin, and you don't let go.


End file.
